


Playing with Fire

by Forsteri



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Marauders' Era, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-30 00:17:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13938525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forsteri/pseuds/Forsteri
Summary: "It’s the middle of the night and I just watched our flat catch on fire and it was 100 percent your fault. Don’t touch anything else."Based on a prompt from unblockingwritersblock on tumblr!





	Playing with Fire

James Potter had always enjoyed Potions in school. Mixing ingredients, creating something new… he found it was fascinating to watch things change right under his nose. Unfortunately, Potions never did return the sentiment. So-called easier potions were correctly brewed only with great concentration; by third year, he had learned to be wary of explosions from his own disloyal cauldron. He would have blamed Sirius for his failings, since Sirius was pants at Potions and loved to “encourage” other people’s potions to similarly dire straits, but Peter (who volunteered to partner with Sirius in a vain attempt to prevent Sirius’ shit potions from blowing up the classroom) wouldn’t let Sirius get away with sabotaging James’ classwork.

Right after Hogwarts, when Lily got a flat in a Muggle building and therefore felt the need to introduce him to cooking Muggle-style, he had been fascinated. It was like Potions- the mix, the change, the end result that is so much more than the sum of its parts- but _much_ less likely to explode. That day in her tiny kitchen, covered in flour that he may or may not have thrown at her, Lily proclaimed that food always tasted better when cooked by hand than anything prepared at wand-point.

Cooking, in yet another similarity to blasted Potions, does not like him. 

All he wanted to do was cook something for Lily. Not a full fry-up, but close- sausage, eggs, some toast. Breakfast-y things that would make her forgive James’ insomnia-fuelled plan of waking her at five in the morning to go trampling through some marshes. He pokes again at the eggs. They’re lumpy and odd-looking. He knows eggs are supposed to be a bit lumpy, but these are rather _large_ lumps. James is fairly sure the other eggs he’s seen have never looked like this. He pokes at them again with the wooden spoon, before sighing and giving up. Just sausage and toast, then. And tea. Lily will still forgive him without the eggs- probably- and they can go get ridiculously muddy in the marsh (because, James thinks grimly, he’s definitely going to fall in, and Lily laugh before she tries to pull him out. And he’s a petty bastard who won’t let that stand, so he’ll end up pulling her in as well) and perhaps later even do something useful with their day.

He lays down the spoon and snatches up the spatula to turn over the sausages. Lily makes it look so easy, picking up the round miscreants and turning them in the time it takes James to sneeze, but James can’t quite manage it. He settles for stabbing at their sides until they reluctantly roll over, making a pathetic sort of hissing sound and releasing a fresh puff of cooked-meat smell.

 _You can do this_ , James reminds himself, setting down the spatula as well to turn towards the toast. _For Lily. Even though she might murder you for waking her up, she loves you and you love her._

He prods gingerly at the Muggle toaster Lily insisted on buying. James isn’t quite sure which of the buttons turns the bread into toast, so he settles on pushing them all, looking expectantly at the bread sitting on top. His ears start ringing. Maybe he should have tried harder to get some sleep. It’s been something like a day and a half, he thinks, but the last time he went out with the Order is still rattling about in the back of his head, making him jumpy and restless. The bread sits there, unchanging, mocking him. Well, ringing isn’t entirely accurate. It’s more a drawn-out beeping sound. _Can ears beep?_ James wonders as he checks the plug. He knows that much, at least, Muggle things have a plug and they need to connect to the wall. The toaster is connected, which means he truly has no idea why it’s not cooperating. Whatever the ring-beep noise is, James fervently wishes it would stop. It’s giving him one hell of a headache.

The cat wanders in and fixes him with a glare. If Lily hadn’t often been in the same room as Tiger, James would suspect her of being an Animagus. They have the same expressions, those two, generally of the _James Potter is an ignorant tosser_ variety.

(He would also suspect McGonagall, for the same _ignorant tosser_ thoughts, but he had seen her Animagus form before and Tiger didn’t have her markings. Plus, Micks would never be able to watch him do all the stupid things he did and be able to _stay_ a cat.)

“Well, what have I done to offend you this time?” James asks. “I’m trying to cook breakfast for Lily. You _like_ Lily.”

Tiger twitches his tail, which James takes to mean he hasn’t quite realized what’s wrong with his actions, and Tiger is going to enjoy watching him figure it out. “Fine,” James huffs, “be that way.”

He turns back to the stove and stares in shock. The sausages are sizzling away fine, but the eggs have turned an odd colour and there’s smoke wafting upwards from the pan. He jumps forward and starts turning the knobs like Lily showed him, but he’s a bit unnerved and not sure if he’s making it better or worse.

“James?” Lily’s sleep-roughed voice calls. She sounds flustered, as well, which doesn’t bode well. Lily is disgustingly unflappable unless thoroughly scared or angry.

“Yes?” he calls back, a false calm in his voice.

Lilly appears in the kitchen doorway almost immediately, her dressing robe askew and her hair wild. She sputters something indistinct before diving into the fray, an Auror trained in the particular brand of ridiculous situations that comes with living in the same flat as him. Lily twists two knobs on the stove, yanks at the plug of the toaster, and moves the egg pan with practiced composure.

It’s only after moving the egg pan that she shrieks.

To his surprise, it’s not a scream at him, sleep-fuelled anger for waking her at 3:26 in the morning without tea prepared or breakfast ready to make up for this fact. It’s a scream of terror, horrifying enough to force her wide-awake during the time she firmly declares is _only_ for sleeping, and James’ heart leaps to his throat without fully understanding why he’s afraid.

Lily races out of the kitchen, mad hair and flapping gown trailing behind her, which allows James to see what exactly had scared her so much.

The wooden spoon has caught on fire. 

He might become a bit flustered, seeing that, which might cause every spell he knows of that could possibly be helpful to flee his brain. He certainly does not panic, though. He absolutely does not pick up the wooden spoon and go racing down the hall behind Lily, holding it aloft, a torch to his own ineptitude.

Suddenly Lily reappears from the bedroom, wand in hand and blazing expression on her face. She skids to a halt, socked feet sliding on the wooden floors, but still manages to cast a spell that involves water hitting him directly in the face.

James sputters, choking on the liquid and smoke and shame of it all, as Lily directs the stream of water to the flaming spoon clutched in his useless hand. A simple wrist movement ends the spell, and she rushes towards him- James isn’t sure if she’s going to hug him or hit him- only to push him out of the way and run towards the kitchen.

James blinks twice, shoves his glasses further up his nose, and races after her. He can hear her performing the same action in the kitchen- he must have mucked it up more than he thought. He slows down before hovering in the entryway, peering in abashedly, knowing just how badly he’s ruined the entire day before it’s properly started.

Lily takes a deep breath, looking at the kitchen. Two slices of bread still sit on top of the useless toaster, odd lumpy not-yellow eggs sit innocently in their pan, scorch marks all around. The sausages- the only thing that was actually cooperating with James’ Do Something Nice For Lily plan- are a sodden, slightly smoky mess. She presses her lips together into thin lines (something else she and Micks have in common) as she surveys the wreck that used to be a functional kitchen.

“Lily,” he squeaks around the disgrace in his throat.

The sound of his voice prompts her into action. She hands him a tea towel. “Go flap this at the smoke detector,” she orders, “I’m sure the fire brigade will be here any minute and I need to think.”

He thinks inanely that her words are all English, and he ostensibly understands them, but in context he is absolutely lost. James looks down at the soft teal cloth he’s clutching, then back up at his girlfriend’s exhausted eyes. “Er-”

“The round thing on the hallway ceiling,” Lily expands, “just wave it around a bit so the beeping stops.”

“So that’s what woke you,” he blurts out. “I thought my ears were ringing.”

Lily gives him another look, full of exasperation and the peculiar amused expression she gets when he is confounded by the non-magical world. James turns faintly red, and decides that since the blame for this entire scenario is entirely on his shoulders, perhaps he should go find said round thing and flap.

He feels utterly stupid shaking the towel, like he’s trying to make a tiny magic carpet prepare for a flight, but the beeping does eventually stop. He waves it about for another few moments before returning to the kitchen. Lily’s no longer there, so he replaces the tea towel in its usual drawer and goes to hunt her down. She’s in the lounge, hiding or Charming all her wizarding belongings to look innocuously non-magical. “Why are you doing that?” he asks.

“The fire brigade,” she responds, shoving a copy of _Witch Weekly_ under the couch cushions. “They’ll want to see the fire’s out, so they’ll need to come into the flat.”

She surveys her work quickly. “I’m going to brush my hair and put on shoes,” Lily says, “hide your wand and get shoes on as well. We should be outside when they pull up.”

“’S in my pocket. Can’t you just use the fellow-tone to tell them not to come?” James asks.

“ _Telephone_ ,” she calls over her shoulder while she moves swiftly down the hall. “If I’d been awake when you decided to burn down the flat, maybe, but by now it’s far too late.”

James nods and goes searching for his trainers. By the time he’s jammed them, untied, onto his sockless feet, Lily reappears. Her hair falls in a soft curtain to the middle of her back. Her dressing gown is primly tied at the waist, and her black pyjama pants yielding to soft grey slippers. She shakes her head softly at him, then twines small fingers through his own.

“Come on, then,” she murmurs, “let’s go.”

They reach the outer door just as a red and yellow monstrosity pulls up, flashing lights and blaring a horn. James thinks it’s really all too much, after the detective’s beeping, and nothing should be quite this loud right now. He also notices that there’s quite a lot of people outside for this hour of the morning, most partially-dressed, but all glaring quite obviously at him and Lily.

Lily stares blatantly back at them, shaming her neighbours into turning away, hopefully embarrassed by their loud looks. And then, as if James couldn’t love her any more, she marches right up to one of the firemen. Her face is calm, but her hands are moving frantically, pushing her fringe to the side, gesturing at the flat, and even once pointing accusatorily at James. The man laughs, calls to the others swarming around the engine, and the activity noticeably slows. Lily turns smartly on one slippered foot and walks back towards him, the fireman in tow.

“This is James. James, this is Greg,” Lily introduces, gesturing between them. “Greg’s going to come up and take a look at the flat.”

“Pleasure,” James grins, shaking his hand awkwardly. “It’s always been a dream of mine to meet a fireman.”

“I, for one, wish we were still dreaming,” Lily interrupts. “No offense, Greg.”

Greg’s laugh is loud and brash. James hates it immediately, mostly because Greg’s laugh is annoyingly loud after the detective and the engine. “None taken. I see what you meant, Lily. Now let’s go up, yes? Some of the other tenants look a tad hacked off. The sooner I clear the building, the less likely you are to have unpleasant notes under your door.”

They troop back upstairs, Lily leading the way, but it’s Greg who pushes through the flat door first. Lily and James direct him towards the kitchen, and James notes that it feels much colder than before. They follow behind Greg, the two of them crowding the doorway of the kitchen as he takes in the bread that’s no longer on top of the toaster, the odd lumpy eggs, the sausages that could have been perfection, and the scorch marks right in the middle of it all.

“Lucky thing you had an extinguisher about,” Greg comments, fiddling with the stove. James isn’t quite sure why- the stove is clearly off now, even he can see that, and nothing else is burning. Perhaps it is a secret fireman test that must be performed before buggering off.

“My uncle was big on safety. Made sure I had my own the minute I graduated.”

“Lily, did you open the window?” It’s a complete non-sequitur, but he’s just noticed her filmy curtains fluttering in the breeze, and he’s fairly sure he didn’t do that.

“Yes,” she responds, giving him an odd sidelong glance. “The flat was full of smoke.”

Greg straightens out and moves to shake both their hands. “Well, Lily, thank you for doing my job tonight. I’m glad it wasn’t a bigger problem. James, mate… maybe let Lily supervise your cooking lessons until you get a bit further on?”

“Or at least cook when the sun’s up,” Lily joins in, glaring at him in (what he hopes is) mock fierceness.

“Will do… mate,” he manages, pumping Greg’s hand enthusiastically. “Sorry about the trouble. Thanks so much for all your assistance, really, don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Lily walks him to the door while he stands in the shameful wreckage of his grand plan, mourning what could have been. “He’s gone,” she calls softly, reappearing in the kitchen entryway, her face finally betraying how tired she feels. 

“What did he mean?”

She sighs, leaning against the wall. “Context, James.”

“When he said ‘I see what you meant’. What was he talking about?” James asked, biting his bottom lip. It’s far from the only thing that doesn’t make sense about this awful turn of events, but even he has stopped trying to figure out the way his brain works sometimes.

“Oh. Well, I couldn’t say that you’re used to cooking with magic, could I? So I told him you were a spoiled little posh boy, used to having servants cook for you, and I was trying to teach you the way we plebeians do things.”

“I’m not that posh,” he objects.

Lily laughs, clear and quiet. “I’m not that posh,” she mocks, his elongated vowels falling gently from her decidedly Northern lips. “I’ve just got a mansion and servants and a pile of gold and never had to do things for myself-”

James feels his face heat. “Oi!”

“It’s true, though. Greg heard your accent and didn’t question my story for a minute.”

“My parents have those things,” he tries to retort, “not me.”

She snorts, which speaks volumes as to how much she believes him. “Yes, but you’re _used_ to them, James, just like you’re used to magic. Speaking of, what made you want to cook without magic at three in the morning?”

He thinks for a moment about his restless desire to go run about in the marshes, the breakfast that would convince Lily, the choice to abandon magic to make her happy. He can’t tell her all that. She’ll laugh- he’d laugh- she’ll make him talk about why. He doesn’t want to put that on her yet, not when she has her own nightmares to contend with. Maybe when it’s daylight they’ll seem less frightening.

He settles on an unsubtle change in subject. “I’ll just, er, clean up, then, shall I?” he stutters out, drawing his wand from the pocket of his denims.

Lily gave him a flat stare, the kind that James has always thought is hiding the words _I can’t believe I even deign to talk to you_ behind those unimpressed eyes. “It’s the middle of the night and I just watched our flat catch on fire and it was 100 percent your fault. Don’t touch anything else.”

Or maybe it’s more of a _I’ll be breaking up with you in the morning when I’m fully awake and can comprehend your stupidity_ look. 

James cringed and scrubbed a hand across his face. “I’m sorry?” he offered again, looking earnestly at Lily. “I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

“I appreciate that, darling, I really do. But the next time you want to do something nice for me, wait until it’s not three in the bloody morning.”

He listens to the words with a tinge of despair, then stiffens slightly. “Say that again, please,” he requests. When it’s two in the morning, his eyes are burning, and the flat still smells faintly like smoke, he knows better than to try to find meaning in words he’s not even sure he heard correctly.

The accusing eyes flutter closed for a moment, her rose-pink lips pursing closed as she breathes deeply through her nose. James is fervently thankful that she is accustomed to his oddities, that she isn’t fighting him on the _why_ and is just giving her sigh of reluctant agreement. “I said,” she repeats with a thin veneer of patience lovingly painted over her words, “that I appreciate it, but next time do not surprise me at three in the fucking morning.”

He _has_ heard right. His chest feels full of air like the time Remus made them all try Muggle fizzy drinks, and he’s fairly certain his heart had stopped beating for a few moments and is now skip-stuttering along at a frenzied pace to make up for it. _Next time._ Not a break-up stare, after all, thank Merlin and Lily’s God. But he needs to live to see it, so James sternly tells his heart to get its shit together and sucks in a breath he didn’t know he desperately needed.

“Lily, I- you- I love you,” he manages before crossing the two steps across the tile to put his arms around her. He bends a bit, as always, so she doesn’t have her face smashed into his chest, and squeezes her tightly; it’s only when she runs a comforting hand over his back that James realizes he was shaking.

Lily pokes at his shoulder to make him loosen his grip. “What’s wrong?” she murmurs, her other hand continuing its slow path up and down his back.

He doesn’t know how to put the fear into words. It’s hard enough to admit that fears exist, especially with the world the way it is; it is acceptable to fear dying or fear for someone else. Anything else seems trivial in comparison. But the moment when he thought she would tell him to go spend the night with Sirius, come back in the morning just to pick up his things that she would have shrunken and packed for him (because of course she would have, even if she was breaking up with him, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself, kind lovely thoughtful girl that she is), he thought his heart would stop. He could barely breathe for those moments, but it wasn’t the remnants of acrid smoke still lingering near the eggs that caused it. It was the thought of being without Lily.

Being without her grumpy morning grumbling until she’d sucked down at least two cups of tea, though three was always preferable. Not being able to watch her sleep at night, while he struggled to do the same. To never hear her tease him or Sirius again, ganging up with Peter and Remus to malign perfectly reasonable suggestions and cast aspersions on their sanity. To never play Gobstones with her again, even though she cheats every time. It isn’t even any of those moments, James admits to himself, with his nose still buried in Lily’s hair, it’s that he wants to be there for all of them. Every little thing, no matter how stupid or trivial. She makes him _happy_ , and he sets the flat on fire, and she didn’t set him on fire in retaliation. And if that isn’t love, he doesn’t know what is.

James gently untangles their two bodies and quietly leads Lily into the living room. He sits on the couch, with her curling cat-like against him, and he isn’t at all surprised when Tiger lays in the bend of her legs moments later. “You’re worrying me,” Lily mutters softly.

“I don’t know how to put it into words,” he mumbles back, pressing a kiss onto the crown of her head. “Your hair smells like burnt coconuts.”

She huffs and nuzzles her head more firmly into his chest. “Shampoo and smoke. Yum. Why exactly do you know what burnt coconuts smell like?”

“Ask Peter tomorrow, he tells it best,” James responds with a fond smile.

“Okay. But really, James, what’s wrong? Because I know you almost burned down the whole building, but nothing is permanently damaged, and Greg was very nice about it.”

He swallows harshly- she can probably feel the motion, which he might be embarrassed about if he wasn’t about to say something so much more mortifying. “I was so afraid to lose you,” he says, the words ghosting through the quiet room, barely audible even to his own ears.

Lily’s thumb makes miniscule circles on James’ chest, soothing his raw nerves. “The fire wasn’t that bad,” she said softly. “Even if I hadn’t woken up, the fire brigade would have contained it easily.”

And he doesn’t know how to tell her it wasn’t the fear of her dying in a fire- he lives with the fear of her dying, he knows the shape and feel of that worry as well as he knows her face- but the absolute terror of her ending their relationship, chucking him to the curb like the useless fire-starting rubbish he is. “I don’t ever want to live in a world without you,” James says in response.

“Then don’,” she slurs back.

He wonders if that’s possible. If they’ll survive this war, which has already taken so many, where he is a target and Lily is a target and their targets multiply each other’s. Will they have a house instead of this flat, where he can ride his broom out back and Apparate without concern of the noise? Will Lily still pitch fruits at him because she’s convinced he doesn’t eat enough? Will she still smile in delighted surprise when James does something correctly the Muggle way, just to please her? Will they be more like his parents, lovingly squabbling and threats to run away with long-rejected suitors, or hers, full of calm peaceful moments?

He feels with some certainty that Lily would absolutely threaten to leave him- she’s already threatened to leave him for Sirius, once, but to be fair she couldn’t even keep a straight face while saying it- but she never would if they-

James’ brain stops and considers this for a moment. _Sirius was dead wrong when he said I never think things through._ This has many possible outcomes, he decides, and it’s absolutely insane. Full on, ‘too absurd even for James Potter’ levels of ridiculous. But most of the potential outcomes were good, and some were great, and at he can’t believe he’s making this decision but he wants this too much. 

“Marry me, Lily?”

His heart is erratic again, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s waiting for Lily to answer, to tell him he’s a fucking idiot because he doesn’t have a ring not to mention it’s 3:52 in the morning after he set their flat on fire James Potter this is _not_ how she should be proposed to, but Lily is kind and understanding and warm against his side; the absolute beauty of this moment could not be ignored, even if he’s exceeded his stupidity quota for the day before the sun’s even risen.

He feels her gently breathing against him and risks a glance down to see how she’s taken the question.

She’s asleep. James chuckles quietly to himself as he gently shits around a bit. He ends up dislodging Tiger, who gives a baleful _meow_ before taking over the armchair, but does manage to stretch himself out without waking Lily. He covers them both with the larger blue blanket, the one Lily claims is “better” than the fuzzy white one, and succeeds in getting his glasses onto the side table. “Thanks for not murdering me. I’ll ask again in the morning,” he mutters as his eyes flutter close, “after you’ve had your tea.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://www.the-forsteri.tumblr.com)!


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